Family Matters
by hmmga
Summary: The boys are back for their third year at Hogwarts, but as boggart dredges up old terrors for Sherlock, John is facing nightmares that are very real. Can Sherlock face his demons in time to help his friend? Or will he lose himself along the way...
1. Chapter 1

**Here we are again, number three.**

**This fic may take a while to come together, there's a lot going on right now school-wise, so my writing hours are becoming painfully constricted.**

**This story is an important one. A lot will happen. There will be deaths, spilled secrets, mentions of child abuse, and possibly substance abuse, but I haven't properly decided about that yet.**

**On a lighter tone, John discovers girls…**

**Disclaimer: Like before, I don't own any rights, ect.**

**This is a follow on from **_**A Study in Four**_**, and **_**Babysitting Detail**_**. I strongly suggest you read those first, if you haven't already.**

**Chapter 1**

The sun rose over the Holmes estate to reveal two boys, fast asleep on a sofa, the books they had been studying on the floor. The first thing that John Watson realised when he woke up was that someone had placed a blanket over him. The second thing he noticed was that his head was on Sherlock Holmes's shoulder.

Instinctively he jerked away, which turned out to be a bad idea for both his aching limbs and Sherlock, who woke abruptly when he toppled onto the floor.

"John…" he whined sleepily, scrabbling back on to the sofa. Before he could complain further there was a knock on the door, then Mycroft strode into the room.

"Go away, Myc," moaned Sherlock. "I'm asleep."

"I can see that, Lockie, but mummy wants both of you to come downstairs for breakfast. She would very much like to meet John, as she didn't get the opportunity last night."

"We'll be down in a minute," yawned John, searching his rucksack for fresh clothes. Mycroft nodded, and swept out.

"There goes the queen," muttered Sherlock, getting to his feet.

Ten minutes later, John was tentatively following Sherlock into the enormous dining room. He was oddly curious; Sherlock never talked about any of his family in favourable tones, least of all his mother.

"Ah," said a sharp voice. "Mr Watson, it's nice to meet you."

Mrs Holmes was tall and slender, with dark brown hair that she wore in a tight bun. Even if John hadn't been introduced to her, he thought she would be easy to spot as Sherlock's mother. Only a Holmes could have those cheekbones.

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs Holmes," said John, copying Sherlock in taking a seat. His mouth watered at the sight of the cooked breakfast. There hadn't had a lot to eat since the end of term. He tucked in cautiously, and then found Sherlock staring at him, studying him like he would an interesting experiment. It was quite creepy. He didn't say anything.

"So what time did you arrive last night, Mr Watson?" asked Mrs Holmes.

"About nine o'clock," he said. "We did mean to come and see you, but we fell asleep."

"Yes, so Mycroft informed me," she said. "I hope you can cheer my sons up, while you're here. Even Mycroft has spent too much time in his room these holidays."

Sherlock snickered, and Mycroft whipped his head around to glare at him.

"Sherlock tells me you have a younger brother," continued Mrs Holmes. "Is he still at home?"

"No, Harry's staying with the West's for the rest of the holidays."

"Good family," said Mycroft. "I believe they have twins in his year?"

"Yes, Callum and Clara."

"Their brother Andrew is going into fifth year. I hear he's been tipped for prefect."

Mrs Holmes finished eating, and rose gracefully to her feet.

"I must be off, but I will join you later for dinner…" she paused as an owl swooped through the open window, and deposited three letters. A few moments later, Mycroft was smugly pinning his brand new head boy badge on his chest.

"I didn't expect anything less," said Mrs Holmes coolly, waltzing out of the room. For a moment John saw hurt and disappointment cross Mycroft's face, but just as quickly it was gone, and he turned on Sherlock.

"How much do you know?" he hissed in a half venomous, half resigned voice.

"About your girlfriend?" sniggered Sherlock. "Hardly a difficult deduction."

"A girlfriend?" asked John. "A bit normal for a Holmes, isn't it? Sherlock said you guys were more into arranged marriages."

"That is the tradition," sighed Mycroft. "Unfortunately mummy would not approve of her."

"She's a muggleborn," noted Sherlock. "Not that there's anything wrong with muggleborns," he said hurriedly, seeing John's expression. "Mother isn't really _that_ prejudiced, but the Holmes's have been a strict pureblood line for centuries. We must be the only ones without an established Slytherin connection."

"Mycroft Holmes, going against tradition…"

Mycroft glared at John. "We can go to Diagon Alley on the Wednesday. Tell your brother to meet us there; you got your Gringotts keys mixed up."

XXX

Wednesday dawned hot and sunny, and everything was set for their trip to Diagon Alley. John was ridiculously excited. The novelty of the magical street still hadn't worn off, but Sherlock had to admit that he was looking forward to it. Perhaps it was the idea of sharing it with someone who wasn't mummy or Mycroft. He decided that was probably the case. Shopping trips were always so dull, this one had promise to be a little more interesting.

Johns temporary addition to the Holmes household had benefits. Sherlock was now much less bored than he had been all summer, and John's presence diluted the usual estate hostilities. Even Mycroft was cheerful, even if he insisted on using the _ridiculous_ nickname. At least 'Lockie' was better than... Sherlock stopped the thought with a shudder.

John had never used floo powder before, a concept that Sherlock's mother found baffling. John was obviously bewildered by the bombardment of advice he received, but managed very well, even if he did have to knock over Sherlock when he ploughed out of the fireplace. A pair of nearby girls laughed when they saw them sprawled in a heap. They laughed even harder at their sheepish expressions when they managed to pull themselves upright. The third girl in the group looked on sympathetically.

"Don't worry," she called to John. "I used to have real problems with floo powder. You'll find your feet soon enough. Are you a first year?"

John flushed with embarrassment.

"Third," he informed her. She gasped and blushed too.

"I'm so sorry, I thought-"

"It's okay, I know I'm short," he laughed. "I'm John Watson."

"Sarah Sawyers," she said. "I'm in your year, but in Gryffindor."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah."

"Likewise... Look, I'd better go. I'll see you at Hogwarts then."

"Yes," said John. "See you at school."

The three girls made their way out the back of the pub. John watched them leave.

"I think you're dribbling," said Sherlock. John scowled at him.

"Ha ha very funny."

"Are you boys ready?" asked Mycroft, who had been waiting patiently to one side.

"Yes, let's go," said Sherlock, and they set off towards Gringotts.

When they entered the cool marble hall, a fair-haired figure sped towards them, and slammed into John.

"Hey, Harry," laughed John. "Did you miss me?"

"No," chuckled Harry. "It was a good break. I get fed up of seeing your ugly mug every morning."

"Don't be cheeky," said John, pretending to give his brother a clip around the ear. "Here's your key, _don't_ lose it! I'm trusting you to look after it for the entire year, if you're sure you're grown up enough."

Harry nodded eagerly and took the key. Sherlock sighed. This was going to be a long day.

XXX

They were in Flourish and Blotts when John felt a gentle tugging on his sleeve.

"Carl?" he gasped. "Is that you?"

The boy nodded, looking down on John. John just thought it was plain humiliating. The kid was a whole year younger than him.

"Hi John, had a good summer?"

"Not bad. What about you? I can't believe how much you've grown!"

"Nor can mum. She keeps complaining that all my robes are too short. I don't know why SHE'S miserable. She doesn't have to wear them. Personally I think she's more upset about the swimming trunks, but it wasn't my fault they-"

"John are you... Oh hello Carl."

"Hi Sherlock. Look, John, I'll find you on the train. My sister's given me a load of ideas for pranks, and I've heard that there's a new transfiguration teacher to test them on."

"Yes, that's right. Professor Moriarty."

"Exactly." The boy grabbed the book he had been looking for, and swung around the bookshelf with a quick 'see you!'

"He likes you," remarked Sherlock. "You've got a faithful pet there."

"Sherlock don't be mean, he's a good kid."

"Annoying."

"Don't tell me you're jealous."

"Don't be ridiculous."

XXX

Sherlock didn't even acknowledge the girls as they settled in the compartment. He wouldn't have minded, but Molly sat far too close for comfort, and Sarah had captured John's attention, and Sherlock could see that he wouldn't be getting it back any time soon. Ignoring Molly he closed his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. Outside it was getting dark. They'd be lighting the lamps soon. As he thought that, the compartment was bathed in light. He opened his eyes when the other's chatter stopped abruptly.

Four Gryffindors were standing in the doorway, obviously looking for a fight. Sherlock recognised them. Anderson, and his pathetic girlfriend were in his year. Sally Donovan and Dimmock the year above. He suppressed a smirk. This would be fun.

"Hello, freak," said Anderson smugly.

"Ah, Anderson. Still hiding behind your lackeys?"

"Sally what's going on?" asked Sarah.

"I think I can answer that," said Sherlock before Donovan could speak. "Anderson wants to beat me up, this is his idea. But he knows, like everyone else how good we are at fighting, with or without wands, so he needs help. Of course his girlfriend agreed immediately, and once she was in Dimmock decided to come along as he fancies her and wants to impress her, even though he spent all morning snogging Donovan. Donovan is also secretly snogging Anderson, though she doesn't really think much of him. Anderson, being relatively young and inexperienced thinks that Donovan is the best kisser in the school, but isn't quite willing to dump the girlfriend, who is reputed to be beautiful. He likes having her on his arm, even though Dimmock recently told him she was a worthless slut in an attempt to get them to split up so he can have 'his turn'. Any questions?"

There was a moment's silence, and then the girlfriend burst into tears. She punched Anderson in the gut and ran away down the corridor; leaving him crumpled on the floor. Dimmock ran after her, and Donovan fled.

"Oh and Anderson," finished Sherlock. "Your _friends_ had the right idea when they ran away."

Anderson painfully staggered to his feet, and hurried away after Donovan.


	2. Chapter 2

**I would like to do some apologies. It has been days since my last update, but I've been too ill and miserable to write.**

**Also, this chapter is ridiculously short, but don't worry, chapter 3 will have a bit more 'meat' to it.**

**Chapter 2**

"John!"

Sherlock flew into the Great Hall, eyes shining. He squeezed into a space at the Hufflepuff table.

"John, I've got it! It was the husband; the man was his wife's lover!"

"Sherlock..."

"What?"

Sherlock glanced around, searching for the cause of John's glare.

"I was talking to Sarah."

"Oh," Sherlock suddenly realised that Sarah was next to him, he had sat between them.

"Oh well," he shrugged, and continued to natter on about motives and weapons, and the significance of the exact shade of red of the murderers tie. He noticed John zone out after the first few words, but that wasn't about to stop him.

He was immensely surprised when Sarah decided to leave, and John got up to follow her.

XXX

John was still annoyed. Okay, so he knew that Sherlock didn't understand about girls, but there was no reason for him to barge in like that. Fortunately Sarah had laughed it off, but if it happened again...

So he ignored Sherlock when he slipped into his usual seat for potions.

"Are you cross with me?" he asked, and Sherlock's voice was so timid that John knew that he couldn't be annoyed for much longer.

"No," he sighed. "I'm not cross."

"You were this morning."

"You were being obnoxious this morning."

"I was just talking."

"You were intruding."

"Intruding on what? She's not your girlfriend."

"Forget it, you don't understand."

"No, I don't. Please enlighten me."

"I said forget it."

John was saved when Professor Slughorn entered the room, relieved to turn his attention to calming drafts.

XXX

On the second day back, Sherlock had his first lesson with Professor Moriarty. It was soon apparent that he was the most competent teacher they had ever had, and even the dumbest Slytherins produced some impressive spell work. As they filed out, he called:

"Sherlock, a word please?"

"James," he said cordially as he turned back. "How can I help you?"

"It's not how you can help me, Sherlock. I've had my eye on you these last couple of years. I want you to know that I think you show promise."

"Promise?"

"You told me, quite seriously that you want to be a pirate. You're not the type to make jokes. I think I can help you with that."

"Really," he said sarcastically.

"I think you could be a valuable ally, if the need arose. I have connections everywhere, Sherlock, it could be very beneficial for you."

"Did my brother put you up to this?"

"I answer to nobody," said Moriarty smoothly. "I look out for my own interests, much like you."

"Hm," said Sherlock. "Still too much Mycroft in that I'm afraid."

"Are you surprised? He hero-worshipped me from the day he arrived in the school. Big, clever Moriarty. Poor Mycroft," he sighed heavily. "Never mind, I can see that you're not interested for now. But remember Sherlock, when I come around with the offer again, I hope you will give it some serious thought."

"Yes sir," said Sherlock obediently, and he left Moriarty behind in the now deserted classroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is chapter three. I'm sorry this story is taking so long, but I'm having a bit of writer's block, so am taking some time to adjust a few plot-lines.**

**I am also nursing a plot-bunny of a Sherlock fic inspired by 'the parent trap', anyone else think that it's a good idea?**

**Chapter 3**

John was feeling strangely cheerful as he headed to Defence Against the Dark Arts. The elated feeling he always felt when returning to Hogwarts had yet to abate, they had been promised a practical lesson by Professor Williams, and Sherlock's attitude to Sarah had improved significantly. During the last week they had tentatively become an item. Sherlock still didn't like her, (he didn't LIKE many people), but he 'tolerated' her. Or in other words, tried to pretend she didn't exist. Neither John or Sarah were too upset by this, at least Sherlock wasn't making his deductions every time he saw her.

"Morning," said a low voice behind him. Sherlock had caught up. John could see that he hadn't slept.

"Hello. Up all night?"

"Excellent deduction. I was researching the differences between water produced by agaumenti, and the water you get out of a tap."

"And your conclusion?"

"I'll tell you later, it's quite complex."

"Hm... Is muggle chemistry involved?"

"Lots,"

"Then I don't want to know."

Professor Williams poked his head around the classroom door, and beckoned them inside.

"Come on in everybody! Come on!"

The classroom had been rearranged. All the desks had been pushed to the edges of the room, to leave a wide open space in front of an old wooden wardrobe. Suddenly it rattled, jolting on it's four legs.

"Nothing to worry about!" called Professor Williams as several people jumped back in alarm. "There's a boggart in there."

There were several wide eyes and terrified faces at this pronouncement, and John wondered if he should doubt the Professor's judgement. Sherlock had turned very pale.

"Now, who can tell me exactly what a boggart does?"

Lucy raised her hand. "It takes the form of the thing that the person fears the most."

"Correct, ten points to Slytherin. Now because there are so many of us, we have an advantage in that the boggart will become easily confused. Therefore, you will be facing it one at a time, while the others stand back. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!" they chanted.

"Miss Morstan, you can go first."

Everybody else stood back. With a flick of his wand, Professor Williams unlocked the door, and it creaked open. A snake slithered out. Mary recoiled slightly, but stood her ground.

"Riddikulus!"

The snake was twisted into a dog shape like a muggle balloon, and bounced across the room...

"Mr Lewis step forward!"

A banshee appeared and began wailing loudly.

"Riddikulus!"

The banshee lost its voice.

"Mr Watson step forward!"

John tried to appear confident. The banshee looked up at him and appeared to examine him venomously. A moment later everyone gasped.

John's mother was lying spread-eagled on the floor, surrounded by broken glass that glinted dangerously, mangled with the pool of blood...

A pair of strong hands caught him just in time and pushed his head between his knees. A panicked voice shouted out: "Miss Fazir step forward!"

Lucy rescued John, and the image of his mother was replaced by a giant spider. The strong hands dragged John to a nearby chair.

"John, breathe."

John breathed, fighting to stop himself from fainting.

"I'm okay," he croaked, and the Professor turned back to the class, and the legless spider that was rolling around on the floor."

"Mr Holmes step forward!"

Sherlock reluctantly left John's side. He was trembling from head to foot, appearing to brace himself.

A man appeared, towering over Sherlock. He had dark hair and pale eyes, like Sherlock. His father. The man's face twisted into a sneer, and he whipped out his wand.

"Pathetic boy!" he screamed. "Crucio!"

Sherlock yelped and ducked away. Other students started screaming as the boggart chased him, its features seemed to be twisting. It still looked like an older version of Sherlock, but it was _evil_.

Sherlock made it to the door of the classroom, and bolted away down the corridor. Professor Williams made no move to stop him, instead stepping forwards and forcing his own boggart (a severed hand) back into the wardrobe.

"Class dismissed," he said stiffly, then swept out of the room. The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs stared at each other, all enmity forgotten as they tried to understand what they had witnessed.

OOO

"He's in the dormitory," said Lucy, emerging back around the corner. "Dimmock's with him now. He's good at talking to people; Sherlock will be alright with him."

XXX

Sherlock didn't move when the boy sat on his bed, remaining curled up tightly.

"Sherlock," Dimmock said softly, placing a gentle hand on his back. "Do you want to talk?"

Sherlock shook his head into his blankets. Dimmock sighed.

"I know that you're not the most popular Slytherin," he said hesitantly, "But no-one's going laugh at you over this. So many Slytherins come from broken homes and abusive backgrounds, often that's why we ARE Slytherins, we have to be cunning to escape our parent's wrath. So trust me, no-body's going to give you a hard time."

Sherlock stirred from his foetal position to look Dimmock in the face. He wasn't crying, but he was trembling, and was white as a sheet. In a way that was worse.

"It happened to you," he stated. Dimmock nodded.

"Father was a death eater," explained Dimmock. "He's in Azkaban now, but I still dream about him sometimes."

"My father's dead," said Sherlock. "I don't dream, but he still seems to follow me everywhere."

"He can't get you now," insisted Dimmock soothingly. "He isn't here."

"But he is," sobbed Sherlock, his shoddy attempt at a calm façade starting to crack. "His name's on the wall outside. He still watches me, even now. And he will never go away."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: if you recognise it, it isn't mine.**

**Please review, and let me know your thoughts!**

**Chapter 4**

In the staff-room, Professor McGonagall drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair while she waited. Phillip Williams had called an emergency teacher's meeting, but the man himself was yet to appear. One by one the other Professors arrived, all looking as confused as she was. At last the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor walked in, and they were all present.

"Phillip?" said McGonagall sharply, as she noted the man's pale face. "What's the matter?"

"I had the boggart lesson with some third years today," he said.

The others were immediately concerned. Williams had seen many things while teaching students about boggarts, but nothing so serious to warrant an emergency teacher's meeting.

"You know the boy Sherlock Holmes?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Well his boggart was a man who looked just like him, obviously his father, but then..." his voice caught in his throat. "He tried to cast the cruciatus curse on Sherlock."

The others were stunned into silence.

"What does this mean?" asked Pomona Sprout

"I'm not sure, but if that was something in his memory, it - it..."

"It would explain a lot," put in James Moriarty. "In his first year, he almost had a nervous breakdown just from seeing his father's name on the war memorial."

"Poor mite was trembling all over," said Marie Hudson. "I had to give him a calming draft."

"What about his brother?" asked Minerva. "Mycroft Holmes is head boy, what's their relationship like?"

"Strained, at best," said James flatly. "Sherlock goes out of his way to annoy Mycroft, there's certainly no brotherly love between those two."

XXX

The weeks passed, and Sherlock knew that he was withdrawing into himself. Schoolwork was more boring than ever, and even his experiments did not interest him. He spent hours at a time alone in his dormitory, playing on John's father's violin.

John…

Sherlock felt guilty for avoiding him, but although John was his friend, he knew that John would be just like the others. To see his friend's eyes filled with pity… Sherlock wouldn't be able to take it. He knew it was cowardly, but he hid himself away, both physically and mentally. John was happier without him, anyway. He had Sarah, he didn't need Sherlock.

Sherlock had been wandering around the edge of the forest when he found the skull. A heap of earth was being worn away, and a skeleton was being revealed. It was obviously a remnant from the battle of Hogwarts, a body that had never been found. Sherlock could tell by the clothes that it wasn't a death eater, so he took the skull, and buried the rest of the body deeply with more earth.

Now he had a new friend. The skull would listen patiently to everything Sherlock said. It was effective when he needed to bounce thoughts and ideas around, and it _never_ asked stupid questions.

So Sherlock took his skull for company, and told himself that he was fine. Better than fine.

So he ignored John as much as was possible.

He soon realised that lying to himself was impossible.

XXX

John worried about Sherlock incessantly.

It had been weeks, _months_ since Sherlock had become all defensive and closed up, and John missed him. He missed Sherlock charging around, insulting everybody's intelligence, and generally being a nuisance. Since the lesson with the boggart, Sherlock's personality seemed to have done a severe U-turn, and he ignored John completely. Eventually, John had stopped trying to help, reasoning that he would talk when he wanted to.

As the term went on, he found he had other things to think about. He had chosen two extra subjects for his third year, which meant there was an increased pressure on his workload. To add to that further, the Quidditch season was approaching, and their team was trying to prepare for their match against Ravenclaw. They didn't hold out too much hope, the Hufflepuffs had been the Quidditch underdogs for over a century, but in a way that made it more fun. The Hufflepuff team weren't expected to be spectacular, so they could spend more time enjoying the sport rather than doing any intensive training.

John also experienced his first Hogsmeade weekend, and spent a nice few hours exploring the village with Sarah, although he was relieved that she didn't like the look of Madame Puddifoot's, he _really_ didn't like pink.

He couldn't help noticing that Sherlock didn't go.

Before John could wonder where the time had gone to, he found himself in the Hufflepuff changing rooms pulling on his Quidditch robes.

"Alright!" called Davies, the captain. "Let's go!"

They strode onto the pitch, John swinging his beater's bat eagerly, he couldn't wait to be in the air. He waved to the yellow portion of the roaring crowd, and noted a dark-haired Slytherin in their midst, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He smiled, inexplicably glad that he was still here. He wouldn't lose complete faith in his friend just yet.

The teams lined up on the pitch, and smiled at each other amicably as the captains shook hands. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and they were off.

It was clear from the start that something was different. Ravenclaw managed to pull ahead, but it didn't seem as easy for them as it should have been. John paused for a moment to survey the game, and realised that this year Hufflepuff had put together a much better team than they gave themselves credit for. Their chasers could score, their keeper could save, and with Davies darting everywhere searching for the snitch, John just had to make sure he did his job properly. John darted back into the game with increased fervour, knocking bludgers left and right.

Suddenly the excitement of the game increased tenfold. Davies had spotted the snitch, and was closing in, his arm outstretched. The Ravenclaw seeker was trying to catch up, but she was on the other side of the pitch. John tore his gaze away just in time to spot a bludger soaring towards him. He got ready to swing at it…

Something hit him hard from behind, on his left shoulder blade. He cried out in pain, and his bat slipped from his right hand, as he attempted to cling onto his broom. The bludger that had been coming towards him crashed into the same shoulder, as something else hit his head, throwing him off his broom. He lost consciousness as in mid-air, the noise of the crowd ringing in his ears.

XXX

Sherlock forced his way onto the pitch, but was prevented from reaching John by Professor Slughorn, whose enormous stomach proved to be a very efficient barrier. However, the potions master was a reasonable man, and escorted Sherlock up to the castle a little distance behind the stretcher that was carrying John. When they reached the hospital wing, he conjured up a chair in the corridor.

So Sherlock sat, and he waited.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'M SORRY! It's been weeks! But my A-levels begin in 7 weeks, so I'm having to get my priorities straight, whilst fighting off half a dozen other plot bunnies… if you like AU Harry Potter fics check out my new story **_**Where We Belong**_**.**

**Chapter 5**

John groaned as he slowly slipped back into consciousness. He ached everywhere. When he opened his eyes, everything was blurry.

"Mr Watson?" called a familiar voice. John blinked, and the hospital wing came into focus.

"Mrs Hudson," he murmured. "How long am I in for this time?"

She chuckled lightly. "You took a very nasty bashing, two bludgers in quick succession. I've fixed you up best I can, but your shoulder might be a bit stiff for a while…"

John nodded absentmindedly, his eyes wandering until he focused on the unconscious figure in the next bed.

"Sherlock? Is he hurt?"

"Not at all," she assured him. "Poor love fell asleep on the chair outside, so I brought him in. He was very upset earlier."

"Hm," said John, his eyelids drooping again. Mrs Hudson tucked him in as he fell asleep again.

XXX

Sherlock sat watching John's chest rise and fall, deep in sleep. Mrs Hudson had informed him that John had woken earlier, and would be fine.

Behind him there was a click as the hospital door opened and shut.

"Hello sir," he said expressionlessly.

"Hello Mr Holmes," said Professor Moriarty. "How is Mr Watson?"

Sherlock merely glared at him. "Why are you here?"

"No particular reason," said the teacher smoothly. "Just checking up on the pair of you."

"Did Mycroft put you up to this?"

Moriarty chuckled. "Of course not. I am merely... concerned."

"That's what HE always says."

"There's no reasoning with you, is there?" sighed Moriarty. "No doubt your mind is currently clouded with concern for your friend."

Sherlock's head whipped around as he realised what Moriarty was implying.

"I'm not weak."

"Oh, no, I'm sure you're not. Just a little sentimental."

They glared at each other, then John began to stir.

"I'd better go," said Moriarty. "Nice talking to you, Mr Holmes."

The door closed behind him just as John opened his eyes.

"Hello Sh'rlock," he said sleepily.

"How are you feeling, John?"

"Lousy. What exactly happened? Mrs Hudson said something about two bludgers..."

"...At once," Sherlock nodded. "One caught you from behind while you were preparing for the one in front. It was almost as if..."

"What?"

"As if it was pre-meditated."

"Deliberate?"

"That's what I said. But who..."

The door crashed open again with an almighty bang, and even Sherlock jumped out of his skin.

"Sorry," said little Carl Powers, blushing. "Hey John, how're you doing? Some others are on their way up."

Sherlock grinned as an idea struck.

"So tell me, Carl, are you still fighting for pranking supremacy?"

"Why, you got a target?"

"Yep," he smirked. "And I need you to humiliate him."

"What's in it for me?"

Sherlock thought for a moment.

"I'll do a supplies run from Zonko's for you on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Done."

XXX

John walked Sarah to dinner a few days later, wincing occasionally as he flexed his shoulder. Mrs Hudson had been right when she said it'd be stiff. He was just grateful that it was his left shoulder, so he could still hit bludgers.

They separated with a quick kiss on the cheek, and sat in their usual places.

"Hi John!" said Carl, who was practically bouncing in his seat. Mary smiled from across the table.

"Have you finished that essay for Sprout yet?" she asked. "I'm completely stuck."

"Haven't even started it," said John cheerfully. "It's on my list of things to do tonight. We can go to the library together, if you like."

"That'd be nice. Peter said that-"

She broke off as there was a loud yell from the teacher's table. The whole hall turned to stare as what looked like a giant bird leapt out of a chair, and they all dissolved into laughter. Mary, however, turned to stare at Carl with what John interpreted as a disdainful expression.

"Canary creams? Really? You know that's such an old trick now."

"Just wait," grinned Carl. "This is just a warm up."

With a pop Professor Moriarty was returned to his normal appearance, only for his robes to begin tugging him this way and that.

"You've done this trick already," pointed out John.

"I modified it a bit."

"What do you... ah, ok."

The robes promptly vanished, and Moriarty was thrown back into the air where he hung by his ankle, dressed only in his pants.

But the joke obviously wasn't quite finished, and Moriarty's hair turned lime green before he was gently returned to the floor, sprawled out, his robes reappearing around him. The green hair, however, stayed. There were fresh gales of laughter as Moriarty stormed from the hall, eyes like thunder. Mary raised her eyebrows disapprovingly, but there was a glimmer of amusement tugging at her cheeks.

"You're a second year," she said slowly. "I would complement you on your impressive spell work, but…"

"Sherlock helped a bit," he admitted. Her eyebrows rose even further. "Okay, so he helped a lot."

John laughed as he envisaged Carl giving orders to Sherlock.

"Moriarty had it coming anyway," continued Carl. "It was his turn. Sherlock just gave me a little extra incentive."

After dinner, Sarah approached John.

"What do you want to do tonight?"

"Actually Sarah, I'm to going to the library with Mary tonight," said John. "I'm a bit behind, but you're welcome to come with us."

"With _Mary_?" she asked, sounding slightly disgusted.

"You don't have to come if-"

"Fine," she said, sticking her nose in the air. "Be that way."

"What way?"

"Have fun with _Mary_,"

She strode out of the hall in the direction of Gryffindor tower, leaving John confused as to what had just happened.

XXX

To Sherlock's delight, Moriarty was unable to shift his hair from green, and it stood out against the rest of the crowd as he attempted to get them all properly signed out of the castle. Sherlock waited by the double doors.

"John!"

He waved as his friend approached, but John seemed a little reluctant. Then Sherlock noticed Sarah.

"Hello," he said. "Are you going to the village too?"

They nodded wearily, seemingly resigning themselves to his company. Sherlock followed them most of the morning, drawing his cloak even closer around himself as he trudged through the snow. Eventually he had had enough of their dreary conversation, and went to Zonko's with his list of things that Carl had requested.

The boy was waiting when he got back, eagerly holding out his hands to take the goods.

"Thanks Sherlock," he said, rushing off.

"Any time!" he called, as Carl rushed back down the corridor, almost colliding with Professor Moriarty, who narrowed his eyes at the boy's retreating figure.

XXX

Before John could wonder where the term had disappeared to, it was the Christmas holidays, and the usual mass exodus had taken place. This year it had been particularly drastic, with only a handful of students left in the castle. This included John, Harry, Sherlock, and, for some reason, Mary. Of course, Sherlock had deduced immediately that her parents impending separation made her less inclined to return home, but to her, John pretended to be ignorant of this information. Sherlock moved temporarily into the Hufflepuff dorms, but Harry decided to stay in Gryffindor tower with the West twins, who had also stayed. John had a feeling that Harry had a crush on Clara.

The Christmas holidays were a welcome break from schoolwork, and the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts life, but one thing that puzzled John was that they also felt like they were providing a much-needed break from Sarah. John had enjoyed being her boyfriend for the past few weeks, but he couldn't help wondering if they would have been better off as friends.

XXX

Before John, Christmas had little meaning for Sherlock. It was a time for the extended family to visit and sit and eat and pick faults about him. He countered this a little by announcing deductions about their private lives at the dinner table, or in the middle of the Minister's broadcast, but it was unpleasant all the same.

The Christmas of his first year, at John's house, had been he first time that he really appreciated the holiday. Knowing that he was in the company of people who wouldn't laugh at him or scold him made the time off school much more enjoyable. Mycroft enjoyed the family gatherings, and fortunately he had gone home, another huge relief. As Head Boy, Mycroft now had his finger in every pie, and his nose seemed even bigger than usual from all the poking it was doing.

Christmas day dawned bright and cold, but all was warm and cosy in the Hufflepuff common room as the boys opened presents and toasted marshmallows on the fire. In the Great Hall they stuffed themselves with roast turkey, (Sherlock stunning everybody by actually eating without being prompted by John), and Mary joined them in playing games by the fire afterwards. (He was a hit more reluctant with this).

They were just beginning to consider going to bed when Professor Sprout appeared. She was bedecked in a Christmas jumper, but her face was unusually grave.

"Mr Watson, a word please."

Something was seriously wrong, Sherlock could tell, but he didn't know what. He watched, helpless as John was led from the common room.

XXX

As soon as he was sure of their route, John knew he was being taken to the headmistresses office. He vaguely wondered what had happened, this was unlikely to be a Christmas visit.

McGonagall was waiting for him, looking sterner than usual.

"James has gone to fetch the younger boy," said Professor Sprout.

"Thank you Pomona," said McGonagall, and Sprout bustled out.

As soon as she was gone McGonagall turned to him.

"Mr Watson, John, I'm so sorry. Your mother has been found dead."


	6. Chapter 6

**I must apologise for the irregularity of the updates, I have been sooo busy! The Easter holidays are almost here though, and I hope to finish this story then. However the series will then most likely be put on hiatus until my A-Levels are over, although perhaps with the occasional update.**

**Noticed a couple of… dramatic responses to the last chapter. I really enjoyed them, so please keep the reviews coming!**

**DISCLAIMER: if you recognise it, it isn't mine. If you don't recognise it, it probably still isn't mine anyway.**

**Chapter 6 **

John didn't go back to Hufflepuff that night. Instead he and Harry curled up together on a double bed in a chamber in McGonagall's private quarters. Both brothers cried a lot that night, but they didn't talk. Each sought comfort in the silence provided by the other. In the morning they parted, the need for contact had vanished. They still didn't go back to their houses, and ate in private, when they ate at all. For the first time, John could understand why Sherlock had avoided food at all costs before they met.

John had no sure way of knowing how much time had passed, but he guessed it had been a few days when McGonagall came to take them both to the funeral. They had nothing remotely smart, so wore their school uniforms, (minus the robes), and clutched the old book-turned-portkey as it took them to a portkey station in London. From there they got trains and busses to the cemetery.

John could hear people whispering as he walked in with his brother, their eyes full of pity.

"Her boys… away at school… poor things… orphans… Afghanistan…" he closed his ears to the muttering, and focused on the closed coffin. Beside him, Harry was a mess, but when he made to take the boy's hand his brother shied away from the contact. He tried not to let this hurt him. Harry was grieving too.

The funeral speeches washed over his head, meaningless. He didn't recognise any of these people, but he had no desire to make a speech himself. Eventually, it was finished. The coffin was buried, and they were being dragged to the hall alongside the church for tea and sandwiches, where he huddled in the corner attempting to stay hidden. He didn't succeed.

"Johnny?"

John narrowed his eyes as he tried to place the face in front of him.

"It's me, Billy."

John considered him some more. "Billy Murray."

"That's right," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Um… good to see you, I guess."

John just shrugged. Billy appeared to be scrutinising his uniform.

"Fancy outfit. Where's it from? We all wondered why you neva turned up at Garth's. You neva said nuffin' to us abou' it."

"I gotta scholarship," he mumbled. "Last minute thing. It's a boarding school."

"Thought as much, you were neva around. Scholarship, eh? You always was the clever one, Johnny."

"Hmm,"

"Is it posh? I mean, you talk diff'rent nah."

"Lost my accent at the first opportunity," he admitted. "On the train on the way there. It was important to fit in."

"I bet Harry didn't have to do that," chuckled Billy. "He was always a bit of an oddball."

John's reply died in his throat as the hall door opened, and another familiar face walked in.

"I've gotta go…"

He left his old friend, and ran the full length of the hall, flinging his arms around Harry Potter's waist.

"Harry…"

"Sh," he said. "It's ok. Minerva asked for me to come, take you back to mine for the rest of the holidays."

"Back to… your house? What about my brother?"

"Him too. We'll look after you until you are both ready to return to school. Everybody thought you might need some time out."

"Good idea," admitted John.

"We told some house elves to pack your stuff; it should be waiting for us when we get there."

XXX

As New Year came and went, Sherlock was nearing a state of panic. He hadn't seen or heard from John since Sprout took him away on Christmas night, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that something terrible had happened to him. Mary was equally worried, and as soon as his belongings had vanished from his dormitory she had burst into tears. When it was clear that he wouldn't be returning any time soon, Sherlock moved back to the Slytherin dormitories. He spent the rest of the holiday on the sofa, turning up to meals only to register that John had not returned yet, and to sink back down into the dungeons. Unfortunately Mrs Hudson realised that he wasn't eating again, and became his personal babysitter at the Slytherin table.

When the rest of the school returned in January, neither John nor Harry Watson was with them. To his great surprise, Sherlock found himself being badgered by a very angry Sarah Sawyers.

"Where is John?" she demanded at breakfast. Sherlock shrugged.

"I have no idea. What's it to you?"

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

"My so called _boyfriend_ has not written to me _once _since Christmas! And now he appears to be hiding from me! What did you tell him?"

"You think he's hiding from _you_? How stupid and self-centred _are_ you?" sneered Sherlock bitterly. "I haven't seen him since Christmas either, and no, I didn't say anything to him, as there was nothing to tell. Now, however I'm sure he would be very interested to find out that you're carrying on with Anthony Keen in fourth year."

She paled instantly, as every Slytherin in the immediate vicinity burst out laughing. Sherlock knew they were eavesdropping, but the girl obviously didn't.

"Oops," he grinned. "Watch yourself, Gryffindor; I don't think Keen's girlfriend is going to be very happy with you when this gets out…"

She did the wise thing and retreated. The other Slytherins started talking in low voices, laughing occasionally. Sherlock had no doubts that by sundown they would have ensured that the gossip would be all over the school. He flinched as he felt a hand on his back.

"Nice one," said Dimmock. "We'll make a Slytherin out of you yet."

XXX

_Dear Sherlock…_

John sighed in frustration, looking down at the empty parchment. He wanted to write to Sherlock, to let him know he was alright, but every time he picked up a quill he had complete writer's block. He didn't know what to _say_.

"John?" asked a little voice at his elbow. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Teddy," said John calmly, tucking away the attempt at a letter. "Are you ready to play now?"

The blue-haired boy nodded, and ran over to his dressing up box. He extracted a jumble of black cloth that John recognised as Sherlock's robe from last year. It was well cared for, and John was amused to not that it still had Sherlock's nametag in it. Teddy slipped it on proudly, shifting his hair colour until it matched the green of the trim on the robes. Slytherin colours suited him next Teddy drew an old stick out of the box, and brandished it in front of him.

"Get back, rogue, or I will defeat you with my amazing Slytherin detective magic, and deduct you until you start crying and stop moving."

John laughed, but played along to Teddy's game. It had been like this all holiday. Teddy would dress up as Sherlock, and then command that John play the part of the loyal assistant. He had really helped cheer John up when he was miserable.

"Boys!" yelled Ginny Potter from two floors below. "Dinner's ready!"

"YAY!" cried Teddy, flinging his 'wand' aside, and racing down the stairs. Harry Watson was already seated at the table when they arrived, waving silver spoons in front of baby James. Ginny was serving dinner with the help of Dolly, the house-elf, one hand over her swollen stomach. Harry Potter was obviously still at work.

"Wash your hands before you sit down," instructed Ginny. She threw a dirty look at Teddy's attire, and floated the plates of spaghetti onto the table.

"Uncle Harry will be back soon," she told him. "He's going to take you to see Granny tonight, that'll be nice, won't it? They say she might be able to go home soon."

Teddy smiled weakly at her, focusing on shovelling his food into his mouth as fast as possible. The meal was quiet, it had been for the month or so they had been there. For a long time it had been a blessing. Now however he was finding he missed the hustle and bustle of school life.

So when Harry cornered him after tea, and said he wanted to return to Hogwarts, John agreed immediately.

XXX

It was another miserable dinner time. Sherlock would have done anything to skip it, but once more Mrs Hudson had threatened to drag him there kicking and screaming. So he picked at his shepherd's pie, glaring at the table top. He was so consumed by his staring match with the dark wood that a voice in his ear made him jump out of his skin.

"Hey."

John was back. He was pale, obviously wasn't sleeping properly, had lost a few pounds in weight, and looked as though he cried a lot, but he was back.

Sherlock leapt up and pulled him into a hug. Now that he had seen John, he immediately deduced what was wrong.

"Sorry about your mother," he said softly, but left it at that. John's face clearly told him that he'd had enough sympathy for a long time. He pushed John into a seat next to him, and piled food onto his plate.

"By the way," he said in a low voice. "Be prepared for Mary to scream at you for disappearing like that, and… it may be best to avoid the Sarah-girl."

"I completely forgot about her," admitted John.

"She's seeing someone else now. I wouldn't worry too much, you can do much better."


	7. Chapter 7

**Just a quick update. This is a very short filler-chapter, but hopefully sets the scene for the BIG things that are coming!**

**Please review!**

**Chapter 7**

As predicted, Mary shrieked at John, before giving him a hug that Sherlock suspected might have broken some of John's ribs. John and Sarah shouted at each other for a while, before coming to a mutual decision just to ignore each other. It didn't take much for Hogwarts to return to normal, but Sherlock was worried about John. His friend had thrown himself into his books. At first it had been a necessity, as John had needed to catch up on the work he had missed. But now the Easter holidays were approaching, and he was still spending hours at a time in the library, writing and re-writing essays. This wasn't normal John behaviour. However, when he tried to ask John, he had merely snapped and demanded to be left alone while he was working. This definitely wasn't like John.

As the sun came out, this new obsession over his word didn't change. Last year, it had been John dragging Sherlock outside with the declaration that exams were not the be all and end all of life. This year, Sherlock had a funny feeling that it was going to be the other way around.

One Saturday, Sherlock approached Carl Powers after breakfast. Well, actually, they met halfway between the tables, and then spoke at the same time.

"I need you to help me get John out of the library."

They did a double take. Carl continued.

"He's been really down since, since…"

"Since his mother died," finished Sherlock.

"Oh," gasped the younger boy. "So that's what… shit, he never said."

"Why should he? Okay, what's your plan?"

"We use the stink bombs you got me in December."

"You want to stink-bomb the library."

"Yep. Got any better ideas?"

XXX

John's full focus was on the essay in front of him. The library was calm, peaceful, and he felt protected there. It was so easy just to sink into the oblivion of concentration that was school work, to think of nothing but the words on the page. Sherlock sought solace in his mad experiments; John found it in an essay.

There was a scream from further down the library, a shrill piercing scream that unmistakeably belonged to the bony librarian Madame Pince. The screaming continued, and very soon John realised why. Someone had dropped a stink-bomb in the library, and the stench hit him like a ton of bricks. Gagging, he pulled his robes over his mouth, and shoved his books into his bag. He could work in the common room.

Before he could move towards the door, two familiar figures came sprinting towards him, their hands over their noses. They grabbed his arms and dragged him wildly out the library, giggling when they knocked over Professor Moriarty in their haste. Before he knew it John was outside, shielding his eyes to the blinding sunlight.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "I was busy!"

"You're always busy," said Carl, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Now you're going to take a little time off."

"_You_ think I need time off?" asked John incredulously, staring at Sherlock. He just shrugged, an evil grin on his face which unceremoniously vanished when a huge sneeze wracked his body. His hay fever was getting the better of him.

In the end it was a nice day. Carl filled him in on everything he missed, which was a lot. Sherlock fell asleep on the grass, (as usual), and John felt himself relax for the first time in months. He realised that the younger Hufflepuff was really quite good company, he could make anybody laugh, up to and including Professor Binns. By the time they had to go in for dinner, John felt that he'd made some progress. He wasn't ready yet to completely resurface, but he was part of the way there, and that was something.

He had no idea how quickly things would come crashing down again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Bit of an angsty chapter this. It's been sitting on my system for a few days now, but I went away and apparently Scotland hasn't heard of wifi… (no offense to any Scottish people reading. Hogwarts was in Scotland, which is enough to make it instantly cool in any other way."**

**Also updated one of my other stories, 'A Mutual Doctor' today if anybody's interested… no? Just me then.**

**I have also started planning for the next story in this series, even though it won't be posted for a while. I'm thinking of calling it 'A Scandal of Sisters'. Sounds good… non?**

**Anyway, enough oojimaflim from me… here's the chapter.**

**Chapter 8**

It began with a nightmare.

When John arrived at breakfast a few days later, Sherlock was absent. At the time he just rolled his eyes, intending to reprimand him later for skipping a meal, but then he didn't turn up to History. He glanced around the class, for once wide awake and resisting Professor Binns' drone.

"Psst, Fazir!" he hissed. "Lucy!"

The girl woke with a start, and turned around.

"Seen Sherlock anywhere?"

"Um, not personally," she said, yawning loudly. "The boys were talking about him at breakfast, apparently he had a bad night, woke up screaming. He refused to leave the dormitory."

"That's right," interjected a Slytherin boy. "Made a right racket. We tried to help, but he didn't wake until he fell out of bed. Dimmock's tried to coax him out. Still at it, most likely. We called Mrs Hudson down, but as soon as he saw her he had a panic attack."

"What?" gasped John. "But he _likes _Mrs Hudson!"

The Slytherin glanced around covertly to check that no-one was listening in. Of course everyone was.

"There's a rumour going around," he said softly. "They reckon Holmes is losing it."

John snorted. "Ridiculous. He's perfectly sane, just…"

"Disturbed?" suggested the boy. "He's always been a bit of a freak. Let's face it, he may finally be becoming one."

"He's not a freak," said John angrily.

He turned back to the lesson in a huff, but to his dismay the nickname caught on. By dinner time it had become commonplace in the school.

Sherlock was still refusing to leave his dormitory.

XXX

The darkness protected him.

It was one of the reasons he had opted for Slytherin when the sorting hat asked his opinion. He could still remember the whispered conversation, almost feel the cold sensation of the hat's consciousness creeping into his mind. He hadn't dwelled on the conversation for two years. Now it was haunting him.

_**Let's see then… excellent mind, the best I have seen since Ravenclaw herself. You could be a credit to your ancestry, but I sense a rebellious streak…**_

_**You can read my mind,**__ grumbled Sherlock. __**Stop trying to sound all mysterious.**_

_The hat chuckled. __**Yes, Ravenclaw would suit you very well. You are consumed by the desire for knowledge.**_

_**Not Ravenclaw, **__thought Sherlock anxiously. __**If you put me there I will never escape my family.**_

_**Not Ravenclaw… **__said the hat thoughtfully. __**Well Hufflepuff's out and you think Gryffindors are stupid. Slytherin is an option, but I'm not sure that-**_

_**Slytherin would be perfect, **__thought Sherlock. __**I have heard that their quarters are down in the dungeons. My brother has described Ravenclaw tower to me in great detail, and it sounds a bit too exposed.**_

_**You are right, **__conceded the sorting hat.__** Slytherin could help you, the students there will understand. **_

_Sherlock was immediately on guard. __**If you've been rifling around in my past you should know that I've put it all behind me. It is irrelevant, the information has been deleted.**_

_**Perhaps, but you have lost more than you realise. I cannot see what, the spell work is too intricate, but it is not good. As you grow, your brain will change, and whatever is trapped will be released. You should be prepared, it may destroy you.**_

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

Sherlock turned over again, anxious once more. The sorting hat had been right; his memories _had_ been tampered with. And now he was afraid. He shivered as the recently recovered memory drifted unbidden into his mind once more…

_When he woke he was in a small room, lying on a bed with pale sheets. He recognized it as a private room as St Mungo's. He sighed, in here again._

"_Good morning Mr Holmes," he turned to the unfamiliar voice, and saw a lady with strawberry-blonde hair dressed in a healer's uniform. "How are you feeling?"_

_Sherlock said nothing._

"_My name's Marie," she said. "Marie Hudson. Now, Sherlock…" she perched on the edge of the bed, suddenly serious. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and I need you to tell me the truth."_

_Sherlock knew that she was expecting an answer._

"_Okay," he whispered, glancing nervously at the door._

_She obviously decided to cut straight to the chase._

"_Sherlock, has you father ever done anything to hurt you?"_

_He nodded shakily. She sighed._

"_Sherlock, I need your vocal agreement to allow me to take action."_

"_I can't," he whimpered. "He's always listening."_

"_What-" but she was cut off when the door flew open, and Caius Holmes loomed in the door way, wand drawn._

"_OBLIVIATE!" he shouted, and everything went back._

"Sherlock!"

He jerked awake. He hadn't even realised he had fallen asleep.

"John," he murmured sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you," said John. "I haven't seen you for days."

"Days?" asked Sherlock curiously. He had lost all sense of time. He shrugged this off and buried his head back into his pillow.

"Sherlock," John insisted. "What has happened?"

Sherlock ignored him, analysing his memory. He_ recognised _the room. That was a clue in itself. He had been in there before, most likely regularly. So the incidents had often been severe enough to land him in hospital. Mrs Hudson had been there, obviously her job before they became the Hogwarts nurse. Her questions, and his father… he shivered.

"Sherlock, look at me,"

John's voice was so firm that Sherlock obeyed without thinking.

"Sherlock, you've got to come out now. They're talking about getting you another therapist, and you know how well the last one went. You need to talk to someone."

"No."

"Will you talk to me?"

"I…" he hesitated. "No, I don't think so."

He started as John took one of his hands.

"Sherlock," he said firmly. "Give me a clue. Turn it into one of your mysteries."

Sherlock thought for a moment.

"Father liked to bring his work home with him."

XXX

John raced up to the owlery, quills and parchment clutched in his hands.

_Dear Mr Potter (Harry),_

_I hope you are well. I'm worried about Sherlock, and I think I need your help. As far as I can tell he had a nightmare earlier in the week, and has refused to leave his dormitory since. He's been refusing to talk to anyone, even I could only get a few words out of him. I challenged him to give me a clue, and he told me that his father liked to 'bring his work home'. I know from his mother that Caius Holmes worked in the ministry, and wondered if you would be able to find out exactly what he did. Sherlock also had a panic attack when he saw Mrs Hudson, which made me think she was involved somehow. Where did she work before Hogwarts?_

_Say hello to Teddy for me, and please Harry, help me._

_John Watson._

XXX

When Sherlock next woke, there was a small figure on the bed next to him.

"Wake up, Sherlock, please?"

"Hello Teddy,"

"I don't like it when you're sad," said the boy tearfully. "Who's going to be my Slytherin Superhero Magic Detective when you're sad?"

Sherlock couldn't help it. For the first time in days, he laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Harry Potter was slowly becoming seriously annoyed. John's request had seemed simple enough, a bit of digging in the records perhaps, but so far he had found nothing of importance. Caius Holmes had been a bit of a public figure. He was an important person within the ministry, and a reputed philanthropist, donating to charity on a regular basis. Harry was strongly reminded of Lucius Malfoy, except that when the war against Voldemort came along, the elder Holmes was on the 'right' side. Something didn't add up about the man, and he spent hours scouring newspapers, records and archives for any sign of illicit activities, but it was all in vain.

It wasn't until the middle of April that he finally made a breakthrough. He was rifling through a folder of old records when he came across a form for departmental transfer. It was an important promotion.

_6th June, 1995. Mr Caius Holmes, promoted from Junior Minister of Department of Magical Law Enforcement to Senior Director of Section 101._

Harry's blood ran cold. Section 101 was ministry-speak for the department of mysteries. It would be almost impossible to find information. He meant back in his chair and ran his hands tiredly through his hair. Sherlock had definitely chosen the wrong time to break down. His second child was due to be born in a few days, and though he was delighted at the prospect of being a father again he had forgotten how tiring it was to prepare for and take care of a new born; and with James as well... At least Teddy had been able to go back to his grandmothers, but Merlin knew how long that would last. Andromeda Tonks was getting on in years.

There was a knock on his door, and Ron entered looking particularly grave.

"Harry, you've gotta come with me, mate. Something's happened, there's been an incident at Hogwarts."

Harry swiftly got to his feet and followed Ron to the main Atrium, praying to whatever Gods watched over wizards that this didn't involve Sherlock Holmes in any way, shape or form.

XXX

Life at Hogwarts was slowly returning to normal for Sherlock and John, despite the shadow that was left by the recent events. Sherlock returned to class, but he was quieter and more subdued than before. John also began to play Quidditch again for the first time since his injury, and was delighted to be back on a broomstick. Carl Powers pulled off his most his most daring prank yet against Professor Slughorn, but also managed to get caught. He was forced to come clean for the numerous other pranks he played, including the ones for the year before, and was awarded a series of Saturday morning detentions, including the time during the Easter holidays. John however was becoming more and more concerned about Harry, who had been actively avoiding him since their return to school. The Hufflepuff in John wanted to do everything possible to support and protect his brother, but in reality he knew there was nothing he could do. This often made him miserable, pushing him further into his books in a black mood that only Sherlock and Carl seemed to be able to pull him out of.

The Easter holidays were a welcome break, despite the immense workload the third years were presented with. The weather grew steadily sunnier, and Carl took it upon himself to drag both Sherlock and John outside at regular intervals, kicking and screaming if needs be. That morning however, Carl was serving detention, and John had managed to extract a promise that he wouldn't come running to disturb them until dinner time at the earliest. Sherlock and John buried themselves in the library in yet another attempt to make a reasonable dent in their holiday work. The hours flew by, and it was only when John checked his watch that he realised dinner was only in a few minutes. This surprised him, as Carl had never been very good at keeping promises before, but the younger boy had probably been distracted by something. He rubbed his eyes as he packed his things away, resolving to do no more work for at least another couple of days.

"Hey Mary," he said brightly as he slid into an empty seat. Silence greeted him. "Mary? What's…"

He broke off as she looked up, eyes streaked with tears. Around them the other Hufflepuffs were silently crying.

"You haven't heard?" she whispered.

Sherlock ran his eyes up and down the table, and went white as a sheet.

"C-Carl?" he choked. Mary began sobbing with renewed fervour.

John's mind was taking a while to work out what was happening. When he finally processed it, he found he could not form a response.

XXX

Was greeted by a sombre looking McGonagall.

"Minerva, what happened?"

"A second year boy drowned in the lake this afternoon," she said softly, tears in her eyes.

"What?" said Harry, stunned.

"Molly Hooper saw it, but she's being treated for shock by Madame Pomfrey, so I am not clear on… on the details."

"I see. I will go and talk to her."

When Harry left the office, Ron fell into step beside him.

"I've just been talking to the Ravenclaw girl," Ron informed him. "She said that Carl had some sort of fit in the water. There were a couple of other eyewitnesses, and the stories match up. By the time they got him out of the water it was too late."

"What was he doing swimming in the lake?"

"According to the other students he was a very competent swimmer," said Ron. "It was a regular thing for him."

"I see…" he trailed off as a ministry official ran up to them, red in the face."

"Mr Potter, sir," he panted. "Your wife is in labour in St Mungo's."

Harry swore loudly and bolted, shouting over his shoulder to Ron.

"I've got to go!" he yelled. "Look after things for me!"

XXX

Once again, John was a wreck. To be honest, Sherlock knew that he wasn't doing much better, but at least he had not ceased to function. However he did feel a strange aching in his chest. Was this what grief felt like?

After an hour or so of sitting miserably in the Hufflepuff common room, he decided to go and make himself useful. The hospital wing had been set up as a temporary base for the ministry, and Sherlock realised that they still had Carl's possessions. He made his way there, and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" yelled a brash voice; and Sherlock flinched. Weasley. He pushed the door open gently. The red-head scowled at him.

"What do _you _want?" he snapped.

"I came for C-Carl's things," he stuttered. Weasley looked surprised.

"He was a friend of yours?"

Sherlock nodded, for once resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Over here, we're finished with them, there wasn't anything to find. A simple, tragic accident," said Weasley, pulling out some canvas bags. Sherlock peered in them, assessing the contents.

"Where are his shoes?" he asked.

"Eh?"

"His shoes. They're not here."

"No, we didn't find them. They must have been picked up or something."

"But all the rest of his clothes are here, so where are they?"

"What does it matter?" asked Weasley, frustrated. "Your friend is dead, and you're worried about his _shoes_!"

"Is Harry here?" asked Sherlock. Potter was usually more open to listening.

"No, he's not. Now shoo."

Sherlock grudgingly did as he was told. Everyone looked up as he re-joined the Hufflepuff's in their common room. He stood in front of them, fire in his eyes.

"Carl's death was no accident," he announced, and there were gasps and exclamations of shock at his words.

"Somebody murdered him, somebody within the school,"

There was silence.

"Who?" spoke up John. Sherlock scowled.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Somehow Carl's shoes are the key to all this, but they are missing. Has anybody seen them?"

There was a mass shaking of heads.

"We need to find the shoes," said Sherlock. "Unfortunately, Weasley, in all his wisdom, has decided that the death was an accident, and that the shoes are unimportant. Find the shoes and we can find the killer. Until then…"

There was nothing more to be said.


	10. Chapter 10

**OMFG**

**I am SO sorry, I haven't updated for a ridiculously long time. I'm going away for a week, but I will try and update again when I get back.**

**Kizmet: thanks for pointing out the 'Dimmock' conundrum, I honestly had not noticed! I'm just going to leave the names as they are though, you can just pretend that they're brothers or cousins or something!**

**Chapter 10**

"Harry? Harry! Wake up!"

"Huh…"

Harry Potter raised his head to find he had fallen asleep at his desk. Again. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking up at his friend Ron who was regarding him sympathetically. After James had been born, Ron had laughed at Harry's exhaustion. Now however, the red-head had just been through exactly the same thing with Rose. Taking care of a new-born was no laughing matter. Taking care of a new-born whilst also looking out for a toddler who had just discovered the art of running…

Ron placed a cup of coffee in front of Harry, and he gulped it eagerly.

"Croaker wants to see you," said Ron after a moment. "The memo came through a little while ago, but I thought you could do with some sleep."

"Thanks," mumbled Harry. He got to his feet, grabbing his cloak. "I'll be back soon."

"What does _Croaker _want?" asked Ron curiously. "It's not very often Section 101 contacts someone outside of their department…" he looked anxiously at Harry. "They're not… recruiting you, are they?"

"I seriously doubt it," laughed Harry. "I think I know what this is about; I'll tell you later… if I can."

"Sure."

Harry left his office and hurried down the corridor. The last few weeks had been seriously hectic. Albus had been born safely, for which he was extremely grateful. However Carl Power's sudden death had placed grief and pressure on everyone in the Auror department. Then there was the slight issue of Andrew West's disappearance. The ministry man had disappeared, seemingly into thin air, and taken some top secret plans with him…

"Ah, Mr Potter, please come in."

Harry stepped inside Croaker's office. The old man was sitting in his chair, writing slowly with a large quill. Harry sat in the chair opposite, feeling slightly nervous.

"Now, Mr Potter," said Croaker, resting the quill on the desk. "Before I begin, I must stress that your request was highly irregular. _Highly_ irregular indeed."

"I know that, sir," said Harry. "But as our memo explained, we have concerns about the family of the late Mr Holmes, and we believe his work may have been a part of it."

Croaker nodded.

"I have the file here," he said. "I must ask that its contents remain secret. This is very sensitive information, ground-breaking research. If Mr Holmes was abusing this…"

He shivered. Harry picked up the brown folder.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I will return it as soon as I am done."

XXX

Sherlock dozed on the grass, thinking.

Today they had had their last exam. It was all over for another year, and soon they would be heading home. Since Carl's death, a gloom had settled over the whole school, and it would be a relief to leave the castle for the holidays, ready to start afresh in September.

John had a less positive outlook on the summer. He and Harry would be staying with Sherlock's family. Although he would enjoy the company of his best friend, he wished he could go home to be with his mother.

The two lay in a comfortable silence.

XXX

"John?"

John turned to find his brother looking at him from behind a pillar.

"Hey, Harry. How are you?"

"Good," he said, twisting his hands nervously in his pockets. "It's just…"

His face twisted into a grimace, and John led him to a stone bench to sit down.

"Andy West's disappeared," he said. John frowned.

"The fifth year Gryffindor?"

"No, his father. He's just vanished. The ministry can't find him."

"I see… oh, that's awful."

He put an arm around his brother, and to his surprise, the boy accepted the comfort.

"It's my fault," he sobbed.

"Don't be silly, how is this _your_ fault."

"Everything seems to happen to us. The twins are my friends, and now their dad's gone."

"Now stop being so daft," said John firmly. "We've had a rough year, that's all. But _none of it _was your fault, you hear?"

Harry nodded, eyes wet. For the first time since their mother had died, Harry had come to John for comfort. It was progress.

XXX

Ginny Potter was worried about her husband. All week he had had lines of concern etched onto his face. He had barely spoken, and when people tried to talk to him, he didn't always seem to notice.

She knew that he was stressed. The whole ministry was in turmoil over the dead boy, and the missing man, but Harry seemed to be struggling more than the rest. Ron had whispered to her that he was involved in a little project 'on the side', and that he was refusing to talk to anybody about it, but it had something to do with the Department of Mysteries.

Ginny remembered full well the horror that had unfolded last time she visited the place, and wondered what in Merlin's name Harry had got himself into now. Whether he was a boy, a teenager or an adult, he always seemed to find himself in trouble. Ginny had trained herself not to worry about him when he was on his Auror missions, but this…

Ginny kept herself occupied. It wasn't hard, what with two young children, Teddy's gran in and out of St Mungo's, and the enormous, ever expanding Weasley family. She also considered herself a foster mother of sorts to the Watson children. Although she had never met the boy, she was sure that John's friend Sherlock must be as delightful as those two, no matter what Ron said.

One night, she woke when something poked her back. She rolled over, but lurched backwards quickly to avoid Harry's flying fist.

"What…"

Harry was tossing and turning in his sleep, sweat pouring down his face. His breath was coming in swift, short gasps.

"Harry, wake up!"

He moaned in response, but didn't wake. She shook his shoulders.

"Harry, WAKE UP!"

He sat bolt upright, panting. She took his hand in hers.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?"

He shook his head wordlessly.

"Harry…"

"It's nothing, Ginny," he said quietly.

"Doesn't seem like nothing."

"It's just… this case I'm working on, that's all."

She crossed her arms stubbornly.

"A case has never affected you like this before, not even when you were putting Death Eaters on trial. Start talking."

He sighed.

"You know, Sherlock Holmes…"

"Yes, John mentioned him a couple of times. What about him."

"Well I've been reading his father's notes… Ginny, it's awful."

"Tell me."

Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Caius Holmes was researching the Unforgivable Curses."


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, guys, I'm calling it. The series WILL continue, but I think it's time to wrap this particular story up. I know I've left a lot of story threads hanging, but they'll be back…**

**Chapter 11**

_Date: 02/07/2004_

_Interviewers: Mr Harry James Potter, and Mrs Susan Macmillan_

_Interviewee: Mrs Flavia Maria Holmes_

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and their Child Protection Sector would like to remind the reader that the contents of this file are strictly confidential. Any violation of our witness protection acts, and/or exposing the information to third parties is a serious offence, and is punishable as such._

_Macmillan: Mrs Holmes, do you know why you have been brought to the ministry?_

_Holmes: No, I do not._

_Potter: We have some questions for you, regarding your husband and his activities._

_Holmes: He's been dead for seven years, now._

_Macmillan: We are well aware of that, Mrs Holmes. Yet certain information has come to light that we see as a cause for concern. Tell me, what did you know about your husband's job?_

_Holmes: He worked here at the ministry. I don't know exactly what his work involved, but I knew it was top secret._

_Potter: What was he like when he came home?_

_Holmes: It varied. Sometimes he would come home in a terrible mood, other times he was ecstatic. _

_Potter: What about the children? Did he get along with them?_

_Holmes: What exactly are you insinuating?_

_Macmillan: We are insinuating nothing, Mrs Holmes. We just wish to know._

_Potter: There's no point saying that, Susan. She's already seen right through it. Mrs Holmes, the information that has come to light involves your youngest son, Sherlock. His behaviour throughout his time at Hogwarts has come to the attention of the staff._

_Holmes: What sort of behaviour? Has the boy been misbehaving again?_

_Macmillan: The contrary. We have reason to believe that there is a history of abuse within the family, involving your husband, and the number of unforgivable curses he was researching with the Department of Mysteries._

_[There is a long pause.]_

_Holmes: My husband was… an intelligent man, but like many men he could be a bit… unbalanced at times. However, I see no reason to believe these accusations you are scattering over his grave._

_Potter: These are more than accusations, Mrs Holmes. Over the past month we have been collecting evidence. We have uncovered memory modification in both of your sons, along with several of St Mungo's healers. That in itself was a serious offence, and that's before we started looking at the memories in question. We found a long history of physical and mental torture, mind control, neglect…_

_Holmes: What? Caius would never have done anything like that!_

_Macmillan: Mrs Holmes, if your husband were still alive now he would be looking at a life sentence in Azkaban._

_Holmes: I had no idea about any of these things! None at all! Please…_

_[The interviewee appeared distressed, and so the interview has been temporarily halted.]_

XXX

"She's lying through her teeth."

Susan looked up at Harry's announcement, surprised.

"What makes you say that?"

Harry turned, and looked through the observation window, watching Mrs Holmes wipe her eyes with a handkerchief, leaving black streaks of mascara across her face.

_She called Sherlock 'the boy',_ thought Harry. He remembered the way the Dursleys had treated him for sixteen years.

"Harry, what's the matter?"

"I'm just thinking," he said. "Did I ever tell you anything about my Aunt and Uncle? About the way they treated me?"

"I heard they neglected you."

"That's true, but I was thinking more of their attitude towards me, and how they addressed me, etcetera. And now I'm watching Mrs Holmes protest her innocence, and I'm drawing a few parallels… it worries me."

"We're all worried. That's why this investigation is happening. But we can't prove that she's lying, unless the court gives us permission to administer veritaserum."

"I know. But she is definitely giving us a performance, and I think I know why I know…"

"Well, I should hope so."

Harry shot her a dark look, and then spun around, looking Susan directly in the eye.

"One of many things I've learnt from my wife," he said. "Is that wizarding makeup will never smudge."

Susan gasped. "You're right! I believe you. Well spotted."

"A deduction worthy of Sherlock. Shall we?"

He flung open the door to the interview room.

"Flavia Holmes, I am arresting you on suspicion of aiding and abetting child abuse, as well as the modification of the memories of several healers and attempting to pervert the course of justice. You don't have to say anything, however anything you do say may be used as evidence against you."

XXX

"What are you going to do this summer?"

Sherlock avoided his eyes, lying back onto the grass. He had been subdued ever since he had been informed of his mother's arrest.

"I'm going back to the manor of course. Mycroft is now my legal guardian, temporarily at least."

"Do you think she'll go to prison?"

"I shouldn't care much if she does."

"They've found Andrew West's body."

"Yes, but not the plans."

"What plans?"

"He was in possession of some top-secret ministry parchments, if they fell into the wrong hands…"

"You see, this is why the wizarding world is so far behind the muggle one. If they had laptops they would not have this problem."

"Nah, somebody would just leave the laptop on a train, or something. So are you going back to the Potter's?"

"Yeah. The ministry was looking for somewhere a little more permanent, but apparently Ginny insisted. Harry reckons she's grown fond of us."

"Is that so?"

They fell silent, and watched Professor Moriarty crossing the lawn. He had found away to change his hair back to brown.

Sherlock watched his retreating back with narrowed eyes.

He didn't turn around.

XXX

**Sorry for the hasty ending, but I feel that a new story will provide a fresh start for the series. I will update you when I begin writing it. It will be titled: A Scandal of Sisters, and will begin at the start of fifth year…**


	12. SEQUEL!

**SEQUEL!**

**At long last, for all of you who have been waiting patiently, (or not so patiently) I have finally got my keyboard into gear to write the next instalment!**

**A Scandal of Sisters**

**Sherlock and John are back for fifth year, but this time there are some new faces. Expelled from Beauxbatons, the Adler twins come to Hogwarts. They bring their beauty, their charm, and their little sister Irene. For the first time Irene is free from her sisters' dominance. But with a dark plot at work, can she step up and be her own person? And just how close is she to Sherlock?**


End file.
